


The Water Flows (And Washes Away Our Sins)

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was already bad, gets worse and all so suddenly what happened at Mt. Weather is the least of your problems. There is so much on this Earth you do not know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Water Flows (And Washes Away Our Sins)

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a mass trigger warning. There is nothing too descriptive, but it could be triggering to some. 
> 
> Also, as noted above this was inspired at list kind of-in part, by "powerless (and I don't care of it's obvious)" by reinclarkenation.

You walk, aimlessly, armed, abandoned. Part of you knows the forest does not hold the answers you're looking for. You wander anyway, not ready for the place where the answers truly are. Amongst the trees, it's quiet. Not safe by any means, but at the very least you don't meet anyone.

At least no one alive.

The faces of those you murdered are with you. Haunting you every time you close your eyes. Waiting for you. Their face pale, bloodied, their eyes hollow, dead. Their bodies mangled, the silence of death is crushing, crushing you even now. You're miles from Mt. Weather and yet you still feel the weight of your actions with every step.

You wish it would kill you already.

Not because you wish to die, you don't. You've learned many things over 52 days on Earth and one of those is that death does not bring solace, or peace. Just misery, and more death.

Instead, it's because you're exhausted. Exhausted from carrying the weight of hundreds of souls, exhausted from trying to process what you've done, who you've become. Years on the arc never prepared you for this, for the burdening of what being a leader means. For what sacrifices have been demanded of you, and you're only a kid. Not even 18.

Lexa was even younger when these actions were demanded of her.

The thought comes to you one night when you're in a tree, looking up at the stars. The stars which hold so much legend, so much home. It hits you hard, makes your stomach wrench, but even so, thinking of home, you can't ignore that your answers are with her.

Maybe not answers, but she is someone who understands. Someone who would fucking understand. But she'd pro-

You stop the thoughts, you can't think about Lexa. About the kiss and how it made you forget all the shit of the past 50 days. About how it made you feel young again. The way your stomach dropped in the best way, and a low heat ignited somewhere in your core, you felt like you were 14 again.

The memory is little comfort now, bittered by betrayal.

As the sun rises, you move slowly towards the base of the tree, another day of hiking, wandering, scrounging food and water, of facing and avoiding your demons. A branch cracks beneath you and without warning you're tumbling to the bottom. Down, down, you're grasping at leaves, feeling them rip your hands to shreds as you fall.

You hit the forest floor with a thump and gasping. You're seeing black spots for one, two, three seconds, and it's even longer before you can take a seemingly normal breath again. Everything fucking hurts, but you check yourself, wiggling your toes, flexing your knees, your hips, your back, rolling your shoulders, your neck. It seems that nothing is broken, which is maybe lucky, maybe not.

Shakily you come to your feet, leaning heavily against the traitorous tree and blinking quickly a few times. Your head is pounding and your vision a little blurry as you stand.

Great, this is exactly what you fucking needed.

Feeling for your knife, you curl your hand around the hilt (just in case), and start walking.

\---

The day passes quietly without interference, externally at least. Your mind is still a roiling pot of guilt, betrayal and anger to the degree where you're almost consumed by it. You don't know where you, or where you've gone really, but you hear the river, or maybe it's just a river.

Breaking through the forest brush, you come to the riverbank. You find a rock that doesn't look like it will eat you and sit down. Your hands have scabbed over, the cuts superficial at worst, but irritating to any kind of movement.

It makes holding your knife a true pain, and against what your instincts have told you, you've kept it sheathed. Vision still hazy, you put your head between your hands, groaning.

The bruises still haven't faded from Mt. Weather, from the days and weeks before that. Every mark a reminder, part of the story, your story. One you never thought you'd ever tell.

\---

You feel something sharp digging into your neck, and your first thought is that it's some kind of mosquito from hell. You raise your hand to swat at it, but your wrist is grabbed tightly. That is certainly not a mosquito.

"Other hand. Air. Now." The words are choppy, carrying an accent you've never heard before.

Mind racing you're trying to figure a way out of this, but even as you do, your captured wrist is twisted behind your back. Shoulder almost out of it's socket you realize that you have no choice but to comply with the command.

You surrender your other wrist and it's gripped tightly, there is no chance for escape.

"Stand."

A series of monosyllabic commands lead you through being searched and relieved of your weapons. It is when you feel the harsh texture of rope against your wrists that you lash out. There is no world where you go quietly. But for every punch you land, the more futile you realize it to be. There are four men, all dark haired, dark eyes, with cruelty twisting their smiles as they watch you struggle.

No matter how you try, they have boxed you in and you are pushed you back to the middle. It's not long before you stumble back, falling to the dirt. When you hit the ground the men waste no time. They move with efficiency, gagging you, throwing a hood over your head, tying your hands behind your back.

You're shuffling, in a line you realize and you're not the only one. Wheels spinning, you try and organize your thoughts, try and figure out what the hell is going on.

It all comes down to one simple conclusion, you're a captive, not going anywhere unless directed.

By the time you realize that, it's far too late to fight again, to do much of anything but stand, walk, obey.

Mt. Weather has all but slipped from your mind, the present circumstance a much more pressing matter. You know that these people are probably more grounders, unaligned, or rogue, or mutated, or any of a thousand things that you do not understand about the Earth you have returned to.

It makes your head spin harder, not knowing where you're being taken. Not even having any real sense of direction, although maybe you're headed west?

You try and think, think back to all your lessons, all your schooling, everything you've ever learned. You wonder if maybe you're a prisoner of war, a prisoner to a third (or fourth?) party, to be used for bargaining later. And it hits you, perhaps this isn't as complicated as that. If you were truly a prisoner of war, and they knew who you were, there's a chance they would have killed you.

Instead, you're amongst other people in chains, being marched across terrain with men who speak a language you've never heard. For now it remains a mystery.

One you're desperate to solve.

\---

You assume it's nightfall when you're finally allowed to stop. Your feet ache, your wrists hurt, miserable does not begin to describe your mental state. There is a man in front of you, and he speaks harshly "You will not shout. It will not help. You will not fight. It will not help. Nod."

You nod and feel the hem of the hood being tugged away. You blink quickly, adjusting to the dim light. It's dusk, there's still a haze of golden light along the horizon and it would be beautiful, if not for your present circumstances. You steal glances around, seeing a line of similarly hooded and bound prisoners. They are going on by one giving you water, not allowing the opportunity for you to meet any of those captured with you.

A water skin is lifted to your lips and you drink greedily, but you're not given enough. It is pulled away with a smirk and the gag is replaced. Before the hood comes back, he nods at you "You are learning." he smirks, his tone condescending.

Then the hood is replaced, and when everyone has been given water, you're guided (well, that's a strong word, shoved is a better word), to the ground. There is no talking, no commands, you are simply left there. Somewhere you hear the sounds of a fire being constructed, more of the foreign language with words you can not begin to understand. You promise yourself you will not cry, but it's impossible to get comfortable within the constraints of the chains. It's even more impossible to talk to anyone, to form any kind of union or solidarity. You are in a line, but alone. Headed god knows where, to who knows what fate.

You do not sleep.

The silence of the night descends along the forest you're left along with your thoughts. But still Mt. Weather just rests away from your conscious, for the first time since arriving on Earth, you have no idea what to do. There is no plan you can form, no foreseeable way out of this, mess.

Hours pass into morning, and morning passes into afternoon to night and your feet have blisters, your wrists and ankles are chafed from the cuffs. You have no idea where you're being taken, nor if they really care about you living because at this point it's been a full twenty four hours and no food, barely any water.

The days bleed together into weeks, and you're sure you're barely alive. You can hardly walk, barely stumble where you're being lead. Your entire body feels on the verge of giving out on you at any given day.

The first time you pass out, you collapse. You just go down, your body unable to handle this torment any further. As you're falling, it's almost a relief.

You're awoken to water thrown across your face, your hood, and you splutter and cough, gagging, unable to breath. They beat you soon following, until you're crying and bleeding and are sure you have a few broken ribs.

What haunts you is the auctions.

It's the only time you see the people you've been marching with, but it's only for a brief moment. Time and time again you're removed from the auction, never up for sale .

This time, this most recent time, the hood is never even removed. You are simply shunted away from the rest of the prisoners. You're forced to listen as there's commotion, as the people you've been marching with sold, to the highest bidder.

Footsteps behind you and the rope around your neck goes taught, sneering, broken English in your ear "We save you. Highest bidder in next market. Get good money for you, commander."

You freeze.

Oh fuck.

Fuck.

Somehow they've figured out who you are, who you really are. And the next market, the next town, whatever that means, you will be sold. You shake your head, what is bad, has gone to worse.

You do not want to die. Tears well in your eyes because there is so much you do want. You swallow, trying to hold back the tears but the auction ends and there's more standing, walking, away from the town.

The group stops, and you settle to the ground. There are no distractions as you shift against the rocks digging into your back. Those pricks of pain can not drag your thoughts away from what you want. From all the things you so desperately want.

It's an odd list, growing every day with the little things that you've come to miss. Showers, reading, drawing, you mom, your friends, clean clothes. Lexa.

The tears stream sideways, soaking your hair. Once they've started, you can't stop, no matter how you try to keep them muted, to not to let your chest heave, but it's hard. Your captors notice however.there's jeering as footsteps approach, a booted toe nudges your ribs "Crying? Eh slave? You miss home?"

You don't reply, bite your lip to stop the tears, but it only spurs them on to goad you further "Well guess what?" They nudge your ribs harder and you gasp at the pain "You're getting a new home soon." One of their boots moves to the inside of your leg, pressing against your thigh.

For the first time since you were caught, you're thankful that your legs are chained. There's a tightening in your chest as you think about what they could do, if they wanted.

After a moment's more torment, both return to the camp, leaving you, the rest of the prisoners in the darkness. They move to celebration, happy that the auction was a success. Fires are stoked, the smell of cooking meat, the slavers are raucous in celebration. Ignorant, as you are, of the coming chaos.

\---

You hear it coming before the slavers do. Tremors in the ground, thundering hooves you realize. Not just one or two, but a group. You're not sure if you should be afraid, but it might mean rescue, or the chance for escape.

Except you can barely stand, barely move, you're so battered, mentally and physically. Given the chance of escape, you don't know if you would even be able to take it.

As the tremors get steadier, heavier, the slavers seem oblivious. You curl as much as you can into a ball, whatever is going to happen next it's going to be bad.

The slavers don't notice until it's too late, their screams are covered only by the war cries, by the noises of the horses around you. Everything is too loud, too much for you to process, you can't. There's nothing, nothing you can do, helpless to be trampled to death you realize.

But then, over here! the slaves are over here!

You do not recognize that voice and it scares you. Something about the tenor makes you want to run.

But you can't.

A second voice, worse than the first search them. we only need the one. once we find her, leave the rest.

Her. Some more primal part of you knows that you're her. Who else could it be?

There is total silence as raiders work up the line, ripping off hoods one by one until they reach yours. You blink into the torch light as dark, beady eyes brighten in a pleased, but stomach churning smile "We've found her."

Slave or saved, you're not sure at this point. But it's seeming a lot more like the former "You're worth quite a bit." he says "I wonder why." his eyes scan you up and down and you shiver, trying to squirm away.

"Don't worry, we only get the money if you're in one piece." he sneers

Then the hood goes back on and there's some fuss around you. It's a language that sounds more familiar, but still totally foreign, but that doesn't tell you anything about anything. he beady eyed man settles whatever it is.

Still bound, you're hauled across mud and bracken, towards the horses you realizes. Still bound hand and ankle, you're lifted by four wandering hands, across the horse. Additional bonds secure you, like firewood across a mule.

The pressure on your fractured ribs makes breathing unbearable, and the pain makes your eyes swim with tears.

You black out.

\---

When you come too once, pain exploding across your ribs as you realize the horse is galloping, and you are bouncing along, helpless.

You think about sketching, about drawing the sunset, or what you remember it to be.

\---

A third time you wake and this time something is different. There is shouting, in Trigedasleng you realize with a heart pounding swoop of hope, but there is chaos. You feel yourself being roughly cut away from the horse, and your knees give out.

Someone is holding you up and the hood is ripped off your face.

The sun is far too bright and you slam your eyes shut, letting yourself adjust, trying to settle and sort the noises.

You pick out one voice, a familiar voice. One that silences the commotion instantly, silence sweeping the street until there is not even a whisper to be heard. The crowds part as Heda rides towards you, face painted, shoulders back, weapons obvious and at the ready, she is steely eyed until the moment she meets your gaze.

There is a moment where she has eyes only for you, taking you in, and then she looks away. The connection broken as easily as it was forged.

She has a new horse, you note, solid black and huge, a hulking and intimidating creature. There is a darkness to her too, something that sits between her shoulder blades that you've never seen before.

"You dare," Lexa says in English, her voice cold as she stops her horse feet from your captor looking down on him, on you "You dare ride into my city and hold a hostage." The grip on your waist tightens, and the knife digs into you skin "You will release her, and leave with your life." She climbs off the horse, taking two steps towards you.

Her eyes skim you again, taking in your bruises, your broken bones, and you see the clenching of her jaw.

Your captor scoffs "I will leave with my money, or her head."

The knife cuts your skin, you feel the blood swelling, he's proving a point now.

It is a fools errand for he has angered Heda.

Lexa is now only paces from the man, and her gaze is focused on him. Her hand curled around the hilt of her sword.

"You will let her go." Lexa says, "And you will leave Polis, and never be welcomed back."

"You except me to return to you the leader of the Sky People for free?" he laughs harshly "No such thing, Heda." he spits the last word out as a curse.

There's the unmistakable sound of an arrow burying itself in flesh, the man holding you gurgles his last words and then falls away, dead. You're falling too, the street rising to meet you. However, you are caught, before you hit the cinder brick, by Lexa.

Her arms around you, pulling you to her with one arm, and with the other she uses to haul the both of you onto her behemoth of a horse. There is no fighting, only your former captors with their hands up, weapons strewn in the street in surrender.  
Lexa nods down to Indra, who has appeared from nowhere, Octavia by her side (shouldering her quiver, you note), and words are exchanged for only a moment. Then Lexa nudges her horse forward, and the people part before you.

\---

The two of you are alone only for as long as it takes for a healer to arrive and try to take you from Lexa's arms.

But she will not let you go. You hear her insist on carrying you herself, and no one will argue, so she does. She guides you off the horse, slipping both arms under you "You are safe." she says quietly.

You nod against her, short-term happy, free.

Safe.

\---

When you wake, you know Lexa is gone.

Sleep tugs at you again, and you do not fight it, only in an instant, seeing Octavia, sitting at your side.

\---

The second and third times you wake, Octavia is there still, sitting, watching you.

The fourth time, she is standing, blocking the door from who, you can not tell. But there is a healer by your side, rewrapping some wounds.

She tells you not to worry.

Her voice is gentle and you trust her.

\--

The fifth time you wake it is dark, and what's awoken you is Octavia, standing hastily to her feet. It takes you a second to realize that she's standing because Heda, Lexa, is in the doorway. She's wearing her shoulder guard, and a tank top, as always clad dark pants and her boots. Two knives on her person you're sure.

They don't notice that you're awake, and you watch them, hoping to keep it that way.

"Heda." Octavia says quietly, nodding, looking nervous.

"At this hour, here, I am Lexa." she replies, obviously exhausted "How is she?"

"She's woken four times, hasn't said anything. The healers say she has two broken ribs, her wrists and ankles chaffed badly, will probably scar. Nothing internal, they don't think. But" Octavia's voice cracks, reminding you how young she is "but there's no saying what else happened to her. Not until-"

"Not until she speaks." Lexa finishes

"Which may take time. We have no idea where she's been, or what she's gone through."

There is a shift in Lexa's posture, shoulder slipping back "I may know some. Can I sit?"

"Of course Heda - Lexa." Octavia says, slipping into the formal as they both move to sit next to Clarke "What did you find out?"

Lexa swallows, her grip on the arm of the chair tightening "The men who brought her back, they spoke of where they found her."

Something about Lexa's voice gives Octavia pause, but she steels herself, asking "Where did they find her?"

Lexa grinds out, her voice under-toned with anger "With slavers."

"Slavers?"

"Yes." Lexa starts to explain "They live outside our boarders, capturing people different from themselves to trade into slavery at their villages. Clarke- Clarke was found with them." there is a long pause "It angers me to think about what they may have done to her." she admits darkly

"Will you kill the others?" Octavia asks quietly.

Lexa answers honestly "I do not know." she pauses "It depends on what Clarke says, until she speaks they will remain alive. But if they- if they've hurt her." her voice shakes dangerously "Then they will die slowly."

Silence.

"I should leave." Lexa says finally "She- she will not want to speak with me."

"You don't know that Lexa." Octavia replies

"I do Octavia, her current state is a direct result of my betrayal. I do not think she will wish to have anything to do with me. It was not even me who initiated the search for her, that was you, and Lincoln. You two took great risks coming to me."

"You are the Commander, Heda," Octavia says sharply "You have more influence in these woods than anyone else, and I know you care for Clarke, of course we would come to you."

Lexa says nothing.

"You know I'm right Heda." Octavia pushes

"Maybe." Lexa says quietly, her walls coming back up as she stands "Goodnight."

Octavia watches Lexa stand, watches her walk out of the tent. She collapses back into the chair, turning to look at you "Are you awake?" she asks quietly

"Barely." you croak, your own voice unfamiliar to your ears

"How much of that did you hear?" You yawn, trying to shrug but wincing and Octavia reaches for your hand "Rest, okay? I'll be here tomorrow."

You nod, eyes fluttering shut, succumbing to the sleep once again.

\---

When you wake in the morning you ache, but you feel less battered. There is a healer on your left, a tray of food there as well and on your right, is Octavia. She's asleep, snoring lightly.

The healer speaks "How are you feeling?" You take a moment, trying to figure out what to put into words. The healer seems to notice, and she prompts "Physically, how are you feeling?"

"Uh," you cough, words still foreign rolling off your tongue "My ribs are sore, and everything else feels, fine."

She raises an eyebrow "Fine?"

You nod.

"I have been asked to take care of you by the Heda personally." The healer says, the honor of the task obvious in her voice "And I will not let you be injured further or your conditioned worsened."

"Lexa asked you personally?"

The healer nods "She did a lot to secure your return."

Your face goes blank and you turn away. The conversation overheard the night before, what the healer is saying now, you do not know what to say, what to expect, what is okay to feel.

You are no doubt alive because of Lexa's influence as Commander, that much is fact. But there are so many more facts to consider. It much more complicated than just that simple fact, and even thinking about it makes your head ache.

So you stop.

"I'm going to need to look at your wrists." the healer says, asking for permission

"Wouldn't want to anger the commander." you bite bitterly, and the Healer's eyes widen a little bit at your tone, but says nothing.

She tends to the rest of your wounds in silence, pulling back the blankets last, to check your ribs. There's a stifled gasp and you turn to see that Octavia is awake. She's staring at the mottled bruising covering most of your abdomen, eyes widening.

You shift uncomfortably, and she looks away "Sorry, I-You're not fine." she says, composing herself.

You don't say anything, waiting until the Healer is gone to turn to Octavia "I need to get out of here."

"Clarke, you've been here for less then a day." As if you're not aware "At least wait until your ribs are healed more. Then I will take you - "

You turn to her, eyes burning "Take me? Take me back to Camp Jaha?" you shake your head "I'm not cattle Octavia. I make my way there on my own." Eventually.

Part of you knows you won't be going much of anywhere for the next few weeks. Your ribs need time to set and heal and at least here, in Polis, you'll be able to do that in peace. At Camp Jaha there will be questions, demands, expectations of you, answers to be given.

You know in Polis, at least, that Lexa may avoid you, but so will everyone else. Except Octavia.

Your mind wanders to Octavia, remember the words Lexa had spoke the night before "What was the great risk?" you ask, looking at the blanket covering you, words quiet, still adjusting to the sound of your own voice.

Octavia says nothing for many seconds, letting the sounds of the city surround you, reminding you of your freedom. Then she answers "Lincoln and I were exiled for not obeying a direct order from the Commander. We did not retreat." there is an edge of pride in her voice and it makes you smile, but still you wonder "And then one night, we were out in the forest, hunting, and we came across a grounder who's throat was slit. Lincoln recognized him, said that it would curry favour if we brought back his body."

She laughs harshly, and you know she's looking away from you, recounting this story in her minds eye "Except they thought we killed him. Everyone did, until Lexa saw his body. That's when she asked about you."

"Me?"

"The grounder had been following you, keeping most of the danger away from you."

You swallow hard, knowing who killed him, who must have killed him. Octavia does not press you to talk, filling the silence with more of her story "When Lexa saw that he was dead, how he had been killed," there's a pause "I've never seen her so angry Clarke. She rode out of here only an hour later, armed, and did not return for a couple of days."

It makes your head spin, all of this does. Her actions and her words, matching and counterbalancing, you don't know what to make it all. Of any of this. Of your life really.

"When she returned," Octavia continues "She had your knife, other parts of your belongings. She said that it would be best if she met with your mom."

"My, mom?"You look at her sharply and Octavia nods

"She Rode to Camp Jaha with Lincoln and I, met with Abbey, explained what she thought had happened, what she knew." she pauses again "She said she would not rest until you were brought back."

How nobel.

You know you should be thanking Lexa, but you can't. The words are bitter on your tongue and no matter what you've gone through, you are still angry. You have not forgotten her betrayal. Not by any means.

You had time to think on your marches, in the haze of near death, you had a lot of time to reconcile, and yet you still did not find your peace. Not yet.

But you hope you will.

You do not wish to be angry at Lexa for long. You remember hearing her last night, hearing how fragile her voice was, how only for that moment, in that space next to you, she was Lexa, not Heda, not the Commander. But Lexa

In her moment of betrayal she was the Heda, and you were the Commander of the Sky People. Her actions had been for the best, for her own peoples lives. And yours for those lives of your own.

Can you make peace with that?

Octavia can see your wheels spinning and she stands "Will you be okay alone for a while?"

You nod, then pause, eyeing her knife. Octavia sees, and you know she only does it out of pity, but all the same, the knife feels solid in your hand, and you feel safe.

\---

You pick at the bandages around your wrists, curious more than anything, at what the damage is. Your healer, Andrea, lets you dissect them but always keeping a careful eye. The skin is scabbed, itching, but the salve that Andrea applies soothes the skin, makes it less of an angry red.

As the afternoon passes, Octavia returns and she's glowing "Polis is," she starts, searching for the words "Clarke it's amazing."

She is so happy, so in awe, and you are curious, the window in your room gives only a view of a wall, so Polis is not all that exciting to you. But the sounds, the smells, you can't help yourself but ask, innocently curious "What's it like?"

Octavia occupies the next two hours telling you everything. She spares no detail, starting from the gates, to the buildings that sprawl up and out. It is not a city of tents, but a city of structures. She talks of how at night you can climb to the roof tops and gaze at the stars, how the grounder mythology seems far more alive in the city.

When she talks about the conversations she's had, Octavia quiets, trailing off like she's afraid of something. You know why, how she's found her people here on Earth. It makes you smile, you are happy for her. Her eagerness to soak up as much information as she can has brought her all but glued to Indra's side, and for how much the woman scowls, you suspect she likes Octavia all the same.

You're starting to feel weary, and Octavia pauses "I should let you rest, Com-, Clarke." you do not comment on the stumble, there is nothing in you right now that brings up a want to know what the political situation of the Sky People is.

That makes you feel bad, you should care, but you can't. Yet.

"Do you want to rest?"

You nod quietly, eyes fluttering shut.

"Do you want me to stay?"

Your fingers curl around the knife, and you shrug "If you want."

You do not hear her move, and it lets you fall asleep.

\---

There is a loud crack and you wake with a panic. Everything is dark and there is chaos around you, Octavia is standing, sword drawn, blocking the door. You're looking around wildly, trying to figure out what's going on "What-" you croak "What's going on?"

Octavia does not turn around, and you can see she is in full alert mode "I don't know, there's fighting in the streets." she looks at you "Do you have the knife?"

"Yes."

She nods "Keep it. Use it."

You should not be afraid, but all you can think of is the slavers returning, coming to drag you away. You watch Octavia leave the doorway, heading towards the fighting, to protect you, protect her people. You are left alone in the bed, knife in hand knowing that there is no chance of your escape if they, whoever they are, reach you.

But you will not go down without a fight. You drag yourself from bed, muscles protesting, staggering to the wall, to a corner. You lean against it, breathing heavily from the strain, the knife curled in your hand.

Footsteps pounding up the stairs are coming towards your room.

You close your eyes, open them again and you look around, desperate for anything more to protect yourself with.

There is nothing, it is a healers room, not an armory.

The footsteps slow, slipping into silence. You do not not close your eyes, forcing yourself to stay standing, ready to fight.

A shadow covers the door and there is not enough light for you to tell who it is. They do not see you, stepping into the room, sword drawn. You know you must wait, you only have the element of surprise once. They lean across your bed, pulling the hastily tidied sheets back. They see that it is empty, and they curse.

"Lexa," you choke out, all but dropping the knife to the floor "Lexa." you say again, relieved that it's her "God." you sigh, shaking, tears in your eyes.

She approaches you and you hear her own sigh of relief "Clarke," she says quietly, putting her sword down, crouching down to your level "Are you injured?"

You shake your head, but you feel her check you. Her hands moving slowly down your arms, your sides, she seems satisfied, but does not move away "Were you attacked?"

You shake your head again, trembling harder and Lexa hesitates for only a moment as she pulls you into her. She does not try to move you, simply keeps you close, keeps you safe. One hand moves to your hair, trailing through it and smoothing the tangles. The other settles on your hip, tight but not restraining.

"The men who brought you here," she starts "they had friends. They snuck in our gates, wanting to free our prisoners." Her voice is ice cold "They will be dealt with." she pauses again "You are safe." she adds quietly.

The I will protect you, goes unspoken in this moment.

Lexa never tries to take the knife away, instead working her fingers through your hair until you've stopped shaking "Would you like to move to the bed?" she asks you, her voice low.

Truthfully, you would not, you are so comfortable here with her surrounding you. Some part of you thinks you must, that staying on the floor is not optimal, so you nod. She helps you back to the bed with such tenderness you're surprised. She does not leave your side either, staying by your side even after you're comfortable.

"It would, would it be okay," you've never heard her this nervous, and it's endearing "if I stayed?"

You nod, exhausted from the adrenaline of the situation "It would."

She takes a breath, steeling herself to ask something else you realize "Is it permissible to sit on your bed with you? If it would make you feel more comfortable."

Complexities aside, you know it would be permissible "Yes," you speak quietly "It would be."

You watch her nod, a rare smile tugging at the corners of her lips and she moves fully onto the bed. At first she is stiff next to you, but it is irresistible to you to deny yourself the comfort that she brings to you. Swallowing hard, you lean into her "You make me feel safe." you admit quietly, as she wraps a tentative arm around your shoulders.

That gives her confidence as she pulls you closer, careful of your injuries "Good." she says "I- I have wanted nothing more."

There are footsteps coming up the stairs, slow, careful, and you hear Octavia's voice call out "Clarke?"

You open your mouth to respond, but Lexa beats you to it "She is safe."

Octavia pauses in the doorway, surprised, but pleased "Good." she looks at Lexa "I'm sorry for leaving, but I was more use in the streets, calming everything down."

Lexa nods, two fingers rubbing a circle on your shoulder "You made a wise decision, you are in no trouble."

Octavia nods, turning to leave "Andrea is out tending to the wounded, she will be back later."

"Inform her," Lexa says slowly, measuring your response "I can change Clarke's bandages. She will have enough to be done, and they are a simple change" she murmurs to you, unsure if you are still awake "May I?"

You nod, no energy to reply verbally, as Lexa and Octavia's conversation continues over your head for a few more minutes. When Octavia leaves it is with a nod and a short "Heda."

There is silence for a while and then Lexa speaking, "Rest, Clarke. I will wake you if I must leave."

You watch her fingers tapping out a rhythm on the hilt of her sword and it lulls you to sleep.

\---

When you wake, Lexa is speaking your name quietly "Clarke," pause, assessing you "Clarke, I must change your bandages."

You open your eyes, and are nod slowly "How long has it been."

"A few hours." she replies, watching carefully as you offer one wrist to her "Indra is taking care of the aftermath."

Lexa looks down to your wrist, removing the soaked bandages slowly. When she sees the extent of your wounds, there is no surprise in her eyes. She touches them with familiarity, taking fresh salve, fresh wraps "This will sting." she speaks, pouring the salve across your wrist.

You hiss, closing your eyes. It does sting.

"I am sorry." she says, wrapping the bandages tightly "For causing you pain."

"More pain." you mutter, before you can help yourself.

She stills, there is no doubt that she knows what you're referencing "Clarke-"

"Lexa." you say before she can say more, and her fingers stop working on your other wrist "Not today."

She nods, and you watch her slip into her walls "Alright. Not today."

You reach for her forearm and she does not shirk away from your touch "While I was, captured, I had a lot of time to think. To process what happened, what you did."

"And?" she asks quietly, breathlessly

"And I can not talk about it today."

She does well to hide the flash of disappointment, but you add quietly "It is a conversation we should have when I am not exhausted and half awake."

"But we will talk?" she asks, cautiously.

"Yes." you nod "We will talk."

Lexa finishes wrapping your wrist and ankles with a small smile on her face. There is business in her expression as she steps back "I must leave." she says "I do not wish to, but-"

"You are Heda." you say, with a nod of understanding

"I am." she swallows "May I visit you tomorrow?"

You smile "I'll be here."

"If you-" Lexa pauses, and you can see that she's trying to find her words "All you must do is ask," she says "And I will be here."

You reach for her hand, and squeeze it "I won't keep you from your business."

"You are my business, Clarke." she says, looking down at your intertwined hands, then quietly "I will see you in the morning."

With that, she leaves.

You are left with your silence and the memories that are creeping back. Those of her lips against yours, how her heart raced against her ribs, mirroring yours. You do wish she could stay, but Lexa is Heda, is Commander, is not yours.

\---

You talk late into the night with Octavia when she returns, who is willing company as long as you wish.

Mostly you ask her for more details about Polis, never touching on anything malignant. Keep the topics benign, even though you have a thousand questions, and Octavia doesn't push you.

Not until you sleep, and wake up screaming.

Everything is the nightmare is so vivid, the construction around your arms, your legs, the feeling of the rope against your neck. You feel it, it's real, you know it is, and you wake up fighting them. You can't be captured again, you were safe, you were-

"Clarke!"

It's Octavia, standing over your bed, gripping your shoulders "Clarke!" she looks you directly in the eyes "It's okay. You're okay. You're safe,"

There's running and then Andrea is in the doorway "What's going on?" she looks between Octavia, to you.

"Nightmares." Octavia says "She needs water."

Andrea nods, disappearing again.

Octavia moves, watching you carefully "Where are you?" she asks

"Polis." You mumble.

"What's your name?"

"Clarke Griffin."

Octavia accepts the water from Andrea and hands it to you "Small sips." she instructs "Then we can talk if, you like."

Three small sips later, you set the water down and set about untangling yourself from the sheets.

"It was the slavers." you say quietly "When I was there, with them" you swallow hard "They kept me, all of us, tied up. Rope around my ankles, my wrists, my- my neck."

Octavia's eyes darken.

"That's what I dreamt, that they had me again. That I was tied up." you shake your head "I couldn't get free, no matter what I did..."

Octavia speaks quietly, unsure of her own words "I can't imagine Clarke, what that was like. I'm sorry you - it's horrible."

You take a deep trembling breath "I didn't have freedom Octavia, I moved when they told me, they- I can't..." she trails off "I can't."

"You don't have to talk about it Clarke, not until you're ready."

Andrea knocks on the doorframe light, she has returned bearing gifts "I have something," she says "A drink, it will eliminate dreams."

She offers the cup to you; the liquid is dark and thick. Syrupy more than anything else. It looks disgusting, but you raise the rim to your lips and drink, choking it down in two gulps.

It tastes as awful as it looks and you slam the cup down, grimacing. But it's effects are quick as you succumb to it.

Your sleep is dreamless, but dark. All black.

\---

The next morning, there is a package on your breakfast tray. You recognize Lexa's careful script on the note and slowly you read

Clarke -

I hope this will occupy your time while I am unable to visit you today.

My apologies

She does not sign her name you realize, although there is a drop of ink as though she had started. You trace her letters, wondering what she would have signed it as.

You pick up the book, feel it's weight, it's shape. Slowly you flip it open and gasp, it's a sketchbook. The pages thick and sturdy, and entirely blank. The cover itself is made of some kind of animal pelt and it is smooth, sturdy, and smells of Lexa. Tucked between the cover and first page, there are five pencils. Two black, one red, one blue, one yellow. You smile, picking them up with reverence. It has been so long since you've had real color in your finger tips or anything close to them.

Breakfast goes untouched, instead you are absorbed by color. Creating it, smearing it across the page, watching it flood the first page, the second, the third. They are not drawings, just explorations of color and you've missed it.

When Andrea comes to check bandages, she tuts "You have not eaten."

You close the sketchbook and sigh, picking at the fruit "I was occupied."

"A gift." Andrea notes, smiling softly "It's nice to see you smiling Klarke." she pronounces your with the hard 'K', the same way Lexa does and it's a comfort oddly enough.

"It's a sketchbook." you admit, no shame in your smile "Back up in the sky, I was an artist. Down here," you laugh, wincing "there's hasn't been much time for art."

Andrea smiles "I suspect not, but now is a good a time as any to take it up again."

You nod in agreement, then ask "When do you think I'll be able to walk."

She considers for only a moment, then you say "Perhaps today, later, we will try walking. We need caution Klarke, you've gone a long time being under-nourished, amongst other things." You shake your head, but Andrea smiles "However, that said, you are strong, yuj in the words of my people, Ste yuj, Klark, be strong. You will walk again, and run and hunt and be Commander of your people."

You nod, and Andrea adds "But first we will start with breakfast, and maybe a bath?"

You swallow hard because you do not have the dexterity to wash yourself, but a bath would be nice, to be clean, would be nice "Sure," you nod "Later."

Andrea moves to leave, but you say "Andrea, can I ask you something?" She nods, turning back to you, waiting patiently "Is this where all your healers are?"

"Do you mean this building?" You nod, and she shakes her head "No, this is part of the Heda's private quarters."

Oh. Ohh, you look up at at Andrea "I did not know."

Andrea considers something for a moment, and then says evenly "The Heda, she has suffered loss before, of someone she loved. When she heard that Theo, the man she had shadowing you, was dead, there was a fury in her that even Anya would not have been able to calm. She almost rode out to find you herself."

"Almost?"

"Heda cares for you Klarke, but she is still Heda. The choices she must make must be based on her head, not her heart. On what is best for her people as a whole. Those choices are not always easy, but she makes them."

"Because she has to." you say quietly "Because she is Heda."

Andrea nods "She cares deeply for you Klarke. I believe that it is her struggle now to balance those things. Her duty and her love." she says no more after that, leaving you with those words, your thoughts, and your sketchbook.

And breakfast.

Stupid breakfast.

You pick at it slowly, knowing you must eat if you want to walk, if you want to heal. The sketchbook is alluring and eat what you can before returning to it. You wonder what to draw next, rolling the black pencil between your fingers, and an idea comes to you suddenly.

You draw from memory, the imagine slowly, ever so slowly, taking shape before you.

It feels like minutes, but before you realize it Octavia is leaning in your doorway, watching you. When you notice, she smirks "What?" you question

"Andrea asked if you would feel more comfortable if I helped you with your bath."

You choke.

"You're lucky I didn't tell her that you'd prefer Lexa helping you."

"Octavia!" Clark exclaims, but you're smiling, this feels normal and normal is good.

"Am I wrong."

You shake your head and close the sketchbook "You're in a good mood." you note as she walks in.

Octavia nods, sitting down next to your bed. Her eyes are shining as she looks up at you "This morning, Lincoln and I were pardoned. Heda, she forgave us entirely of our treasons."

You beam "That's fantastic Octavia."

"Well, there's more." Octavia says "There's a war party going out, I'm on it."

"War?" You ask "I thought-"

Octavia hesitates "It's more of a scouting party. Just a group of us going out to check the forest. There are rumors of fighting increasing, it's just a precaution really. "

"Be safe." you say "Is- is Lexa going?"

"She is not." a voice from behind Octavia says, and Octavia straightens up.

"Heda." Octavia says, turning quickly.

Lexa eyes her for a moment "You should prepare your horse, Octavia. You leave soon."

Octavia nods, looking at Clarke "Heal well."

"Hopefully I'll be walking by the time you get back." Octavia smiles, turning and nodding towards Lexa, before disappearing "I thought you were unable to visit?"

"Are you upset?" Lexa asks cautiously

You smile, fiddling with the edge of the sketchbook "Of course not. And thank you, for this."

Lexa smiles "It was not too much?"

"No," you open the pages and tear out one "and this, is for you. My way of thanking you."

Lexa walks forward slowly, accepting the page and you watch her reaction with baited breath. She takes in the drawing, it depicts the two of you from the night before. Your memory of her with her arms around you, holding you with one hand in your hair. You swallow as she looks up "Clarke," she says, her voice soft "This - I did not know you were so good."

You look at her "Do you like it?"

Lexa clutches the paper and nods "I do not have words Clarke, for what- what this means to me." she folds it carefully, tucking it into a pocket inside her vest, over her heart.

"You're not going on the scouting mission." you say quietly

"I am not." Lexa says, shaking her head "It is more important that I stay in Polis for the time being. I trust my warriors to do their jobs. I would rather be here." she says seriously, meeting your gaze.

"You're allowed in my room you know," you say "If you want."

Lexa smiles, stepping into the room, closing the door behind her "You look better today, brighter."

She sits on the edge of the bed, facing you, but still keeping her distance "The sketchbook, having art, it gave me something else to focus on, something that's not what happened to me, or between us."

"Well I am glad" Lexa says, smiling "Happiness, no matter what the cause, looks good on you."

You smile and reach for her hand. She lets you tangle your fingers, and the smile she gives you makes her look young "Lexa." you say quietly.

"Yes Clarke?" she replies, her voice quiet.

"Do you remember when I said we have to talk?"

Lexa tenses, and nods "I do."

"We still do, but I - I would like to heal physically first. I need one part of me to feel okay before I can face the rest of this."

Lexa nods quietly "How would you like me to help?"

"You've done so much for me Lexa, I can't ask you to do more." you protest, looking away.

Lexa tucks her hand under your chin, tilting it up towards her so she can look directly at you. Her grip is gentle, her words matching "You did not ask for my help Clarke, but I will give everything I can to you."

"Is that a decision you're making with your heart, or your head?" you ask, and Lexa stills.

You feel her waging war inside herself and when she answers it is with an raw honesty you can not deny "My heart." she says, admitting quietly "I am surprised I still have one."

Tears burn and you close your eyes quickly, leaning into Lexa before you can stop yourself "Of course you have one." you mumble.

Lexa pulls an arm around you, ever mindful of your injuries like they are her own "I did not believe."

"You should." you reply quietly "You have so much heart."

"It is a weakness."

"No," you say, "Lexa, it is a strength."

She shakes her head and steps back. She has spent most of her life hearing the opposite, and after Kostia, you know she finally succumbed to that truth.

"I should leave, you need rest." she says quickly.

"Lexa wait," you say, tightening your grip on her hand. She stills "Andrea says I might be walking later, would you join me?"

She says nothing.

"It won't be far, if I make it to the doorway I'll be thrilled."

She smiles, looking up at you again "Perhaps." she nods "If not, then tonight, I will see you." You swallow hard and she squeezes your hand "I promise Clarke."

You smile up at her "I look forward to it."

"As do I."

\---

You do not walk that day, nor the day after that. But slowly, the bruises start to heal, your wrists and ankles are no longer raw and you do walk. At first it is simply to the bathroom in a slow hobble, then to the balcony in a disjointed stride, and then around the buildings. Octavia makes fun of you for it when she walks with you, but she's so covered in bruises and blood and smiling ear to ear you know it's not serious. The best walks however are the ones when Lexa joins, and as the world around Polis settles, those walks become more and more frequent.

Lexa does not baby you, but does not rush you either. There is plenty of time for sitting, for coughing violently and for white hot tears of frustration to burn in your eyes. Through it all, Lexa does not judge you. Not through any of it.

One morning, as you're on such a walk, Lexa's hand in yours, you speak quietly "What do you have today?"

Lexa hears the seriousness in your voice and she pauses "Nothing of great importance, why?"

"We should talk."

Lexa glances at you and you know she's scared. Over the weeks you've learned to read her well. You can tell when she's hiding her emotions, getting better at reading which emotions she's hiding, and this, well, it's easy to tell that it's fear.

"Okay, then we will talk."

"Can we sit?" you ask, pointing to a bench along a narrow path.

She nods silently, and you both sit.

"I do not know what to say Clarke."

"I left Camp Jaha because I was afraid, of myself." you swallow hard "Back then, when I left, I didn't recognize who I'd become. I did not know how to reconcile what I'd done, with the fact that I am - that I killed all those people. On top of that, everyone at Jaha expected me to carry their pain, their suffering as well. I couldn't handle it. So I ran."

You shake your head, looking away from Lexa "I was weak."

Her fingers curl around your wrist, but she does not say anything, knowing you're not done yet.

"And then, I fell from a tree, hit my head. Not long after that," you relive the feeling of the blade against your throat. You close your eyes and feel the blood racing in your veins.

"Clarke." Lexa says, her voice catching your attention "Clarke look at me."

You force your eyes open, but they are wide and scared. Lexa looks at you, into you "Tell me where you are."

"P-Polis." you stammer, the memories washing over you still.

The physical sensation the most realistic of all.

"Clarke." Lexa says again, patient until you meet her gaze "Who am I?"

"You- you are Heda." she nods, squeezing your hand as the sensations at your neck fade "You are Lexa."

She smiles "I am."

"The slavers," you speak quietly "Kept us in chains, gagged, a hood." the words tumble across your lips, and you tell Lexa everything.

The beatings, hearing the auctions, how they handled you.

With her you are unguarded and coming with that, you are unable to hold anything back from her. Even the details you swore you would never tell come spilling out before you can stop them. There are tears, you stop fighting them and just speak through them as you can.

Lexa wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close and keeping you there. Eventually you are hyperventilating and the words are no longer coming out and Lexa presses her lips against your forehead "Breathe, Clarke, I will be here to listen, but breathe."

She runs her fingers through your hair, letting them undo the knots. It soothes you, centers you, brings you back to her. You have come to know that when it is just the two of you, Lexa is unguarded as you are. It shows in her tenderness of touch with you.

"You have not told anyone that." Lexa states quietly and you nod your head "That takes great bravery Clarke."

You speak into her collar "I didn't mean to tell you all of it, Lexa you are a leader, you have enough pain to deal with- "

She silences you with another kiss to your forehead "Clarke," she says quietly "I told you I would give everything to you, I did not lie. For you, I am Lexa, I am not - Heda."

"When I saw you riding that horse down the street, Lexa I was relieved. But it From the moment I saw you, I knew I was going to be safe. And I knew," she takes a deep breath "the choices we make in war define only part of us. There are choices we make in war and choices we make as leaders, as friends, as more. What you did for me, offering a reward for me, riding down the street, that also defines you. Leaders, humans, are complicated beings." a quote comes rising to memory "In the end, we are all nothing more than the sum of our actions."

Lexa speaks "Man is nothing else but what his life is. I was raised to think that my life would be strategy and war and violence. Clinical thinking and injury and dying for my people. When Kostia was killed I no longer had a reason to think that they were wrong. Until - until you Clarke. You have given me a reason to think that maybe I have more."

"I would like to think that my life will be more as well." you admit quietly, pulling away to meet her gaze.

"Maybe we can find that out together?" she asks

"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?" you tease, and Lexa blushes.

"I- yes, I think-"

"I'm teasing Lexa." you smile "But I think that we can find out together if maybe, despite what we've done, we deserve more. Maybe even, deserve love."

Lexa leans forward to kiss you "Maybe." she smiles, and yours grows to match.

Maybe indeed.

\--- 

The first night you share Lexa's bed, you are both naked.

It is the eve of your return to Jaha, to your own people and you are scared. You haven't vocalized it, but Lexa knows. After dinner amongst leaders she guides you back to her room. Closing the door, dismissing the guard, there is only the two of you.

You kiss her, hands moving under her clothes and she lets you lead. Giving to you her trust, her strength. She Lexa is beneath you now, a hand on the small of your back and trying to coax you lower. You deny her, taking your time, running your finger, your lips, over her scars, over her muscles, over all of her. 

There is no chance for being disturbed and you want to remember this moment. All of these moments. 

"Clarke," Lexa whispers, her voice breathless "Look at me." 

You comply and she smiles gently, her hand moving down your forearm "This is not the last time." she says "I will not leave you." Pulling you up to her, she kisses you, mumbling against your skin "Never again." 

You grip her tighter, and she says it again "Never again Clarke." 

You kiss her lips, her neck, down her chest, her stomach. She has rough edges, but they are her rough edges, and you know you have your own. As you trail your hands down her legs, she arches up towards you, biting her lip, stifling her moan. You want to draw this out of her, as long as you can, centering her mind only on you, on her body's reactions. 

When she comes, and her legs shake, her fingers tightening in your hair pulling you up to kiss her, you know one thing: 

This is more, so much more.


End file.
